The first time I met Daniel was in a coffee shop just outside Brighton Hill. He was juggling a phone call, a pastry bag, and a wallet that refused to cooperate. When his credit cards scattered to the floor, I knelt to help him.
“Thanks,” he said sheepishly. “I swear I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”
I smiled. “Hey, we’ve all had those days.”
That’s how it started. Daniel had this steady, calming presence that felt like a balm to the chaos I was used to. He remembered I liked cinnamon in my latte, always texted to check if I got home safely, and never made me feel like I had to earn his affection.
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